The surprisingly delightful musings of a humble Virginian whose satiric paeons to a plausible utopia implicitly shame the cynical zeitgeist of our times, causing it to cry, as 'twere, 'Damn, what was I thinking?' or words to that effect.

Make No Mistake

Well, okay, make a mistake: but only ONE!

You know, everybody makes mistakes in their life. I kid you not.

[Slightly awkward yet obviously anticipatory silence, occasional utensils clanking nervously, as it were, as if the very dinnerware partook of the general disconcert occasioned by the increasingly charged atmosphere]

Take Bing Crosby for instance. You know as well as I do that he never should have married Dixie Lee. (Hell, Dixie Lee found that out for herself, to her not insignificant cost, be it said!)

[Exploratory tittering, occasional full-blown chuckle]

And correct me if I'm wrong, but Joan Rivers should NEVER EVER have left Johnny Carson to star in her own show. (Just ask Joan's husband: rest in peace! whom you'll recall was such a thorn in the side of Rupert Murdoch -- and vicee versee -- that the moody mogul prematurely canceled the whole show rather than work with Joan's hapless better half.)